Discworld HouseShare
by Twist
Summary: CHAPTER 2 UPDATE Yes, you read the title right! A semi-interactive fic (details inside) in which everyone's favorite characters (almost everyone's, anyway) are forced to live together. Chaos, crossdressing and 'General Hospital' abound!
1. Default Chapter

Discworld HouseShare  
  
By: Twist (and whoever else contributes)  
  
A/n: This is a very weird idea I've had for quite some time. Characters are trying to be in character and will, at some point, spin violently out of control. You are warned. You are also warned that this may or may not be updated frequently. Probably will though, as I use it as a 'blurb story'.  
  
You may have noted that I added 'and whoever else contributes' to the by line. This is because you, the reader, can give me ideas! I may not listen, but it is possible. Methods of contact are at the bottom.  
  
Enjoy, my friends. :D  
  
Disclaimer: Figure it out. I can't be bothered.  
  
~  
  
Sam Vimes was very, very angry. His feet were also very, very cold. And his socks were very, very missing.  
  
It had been three days since he had been moved into this house by an insane young woman. And it wasn't only him. Oh, no. These days, he was beginning to think that solitary confinement might be preferable to who he was living with these days.  
  
"Godsdammit, Vetinari, where are my socks?" he mumbled under his breath. He and the Patrician had been forced to share a bedroom. Well, not literally /forced/ per se, but seeing as the other option was Nobby, he might as well have been forced.  
  
Vimes began to dig around under his wardrobe when the sounds of an argument reached his ears. It sounded like Nobby and Angua were at it again over what to watch on the . . . Telly-Vision? Vimes didn't know. The girl who had locked them all up here had supplied it and anyway, Vimes thought it was malevolent. The little people inside it were always crying.  
  
"Listen, /corporal/, I am locked inside this house with you and my only condolence is the daily episode of 'The Dating Game'!" Angua was shouting.  
  
"Yes well, my only reward for putting up with you, /sergeant/ is 'General Hospital'. So there!" Nobby retorted.  
  
Vimes sighed. It looked like this argument was going to need some mediation of some sort. It had been three days and already Nobby had managed to get Angua arguing like a three-year-old. Peer pressure indeed. He gave up the search for footwear and proceeded down the stairs and into the battle zone.  
  
"What's the problem down here?" he asked loudly as he entered the living room. Nobby and Angua gave him a guilty look.  
  
"He wouldn't let me watch 'The Dating Game'," Angua said, ashamed at her behavior.  
  
"Yeah, well, I wanted to watch 'General Hospital'," Nobby muttered. He had no shame.  
  
"Which means we get to watch what /I/ want to watch," interjected an easygoing voice from the kitchen. One of the people Vimes didn't know entered to room and plopped down on the couch. "'The Dating Game' it is," she said happily. Her name was Nanny Ogg, and she had been nominated as the unofficial Debate Settler.  
  
"Has anyone seen my socks?" Vimes asked hopefully after peace had been restored. There was a chorus of 'No's. Vimes sighed again and left the room, with intents of getting something to eat.  
  
"Hello Commander!" Carrot said cheerfully as Vimes entered the kitchen. Vimes waved half-heartedly and walked over to the ice-box.  
  
"Have you seen my socks?" Vimes asked as he pulled out a carton of milk. "I can't find any of them anywhere."  
  
"No, sir," Carrot said cheerfully. "Maybe you should ask the Patrician."  
  
Vimes opened his mouth to say something, but a puzzled looked crossed his face. "Come to think of it, Carrot, have you seen the Patrician lately?"  
  
"I think he's barricaded himself in the basement," Carrot said. He was right, too; Nobby had seen the man go down there the day after everyone had arrived and no-one had seen him since. Vimes, however, did appreciate that this was no indication as to whether or not the man had been around.  
  
"Well, let me know if you see anything," Vimes said, finishing off the milk and closing the icebox. He dumped the empty carton in the sink.  
  
"You know Mistress Weatherwax doesn't like that," Carrot said reproachfully.  
  
"Well then she can throw it away," Vimes growled, suddenly hostile. "I'm going to find my socks." He strode out of the kitchen with all intents of entering the basement. Granny Weatherwax, however, had other plans.  
  
"I can throw it away, can I?" she asked icily. "So much for cleaning up after one's own messes. And me an old lady, too. Lawks."  
  
Vimes sighed in exasperation. "I'll throw it away! Fine!" He stormed back into the kitchen and deposited the empty carton in the wastebasket. Carrot very wisely said nothing. Silence reigned in the kitchen for a few moments before Nanny's loud guffaw carried in from the living room.  
  
"What's she laughing about, then?" Granny asked, sitting down at the table. Carrot smiled.  
  
"I couldn't say, Mistress Weatherwax."  
  
Granny sat and thought for a moment. "Where's that skinny man that was with the Vimes fellow when we arrived? Buggered off, has he?"  
  
"I think he's in the basement, Mistress Weatherwax."  
  
Granny harrumphed. "He can stay there, for all I care. Arrogant as all get out."  
  
"Yes, Mistress Weatherwax," Carrot said diplomatically.  
  
*  
  
Angua stopped Commander Vimes when he was halfway down the upstairs hall. "Have you seen his Lordship?" she asked. Vimes shook his head and Angua's brow furrowed. "Well, I can't imagine who else would know where it is," she said.  
  
"Where what is?" Vimes asked, tiredly.  
  
"My skirt!" Angua said, annoyed. "I've asked Carrot and the other two ladies and I've searched Nobby's possessions and there's still no sign of it."  
  
"I certainly don't have it," Vimes replied, feeling some measure of self- defense was needed.  
  
"I didn't think you would," Angua said distractedly. "The only person left is his Lordship."  
  
"I'll ask him if I see him," Vimes said, somewhat confused as to why Vetinari would want a skirt.  
  
"Thanks," said Angua, before strolling off down the hall.  
  
"And let me know if you see my socks!" Vimes called after her. He turned and once again made for his bedroom. Upon opening the door he found the house's most wanted.  
  
"Hello, your Lordship," Vimes said neutrally. Vetinari turned around calmly.  
  
"Hello, Commander," he returned. "I trust you are well?"  
  
"Angua wants to know if you've seen her skirt," Vimes said, cutting to the chase.  
  
"Skirt? What skirt?" Vetinari asked smoothly. "No, I haven't seen a skirt."  
  
"How about my socks?" Vimes asked. He realized Vetinari could be lying through his teeth, but he couldn't think of any reason the Patrician would want a skirt.  
  
"Haven't seen your socks, either," Vetinari replied. He turned back to what he had been doing, which was rummaging through his personal items. Vimes noticed that there was something like ten ties on the floor next to him.  
  
"Why all the ties?" Vimes asked, trying to be nonchalant. He question was answered by a blank look. "Fine, never mind," he growled slightly. Trying to ignore the fact that his boss was rooting through drawers for ties, he went over and lay on his bed.  
  
"Have a nice day, Commander," Vetinari said curtly, walking out of the room with a handful of ties and closing the door behind him with a sharp snap.  
  
Vimes watched him go and rolled his eyes before continuing to think about his lost socks.  
  
~  
  
METHODS OF CONTACT: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT reply in a review. Part of the fun of this story is going to be the surprises. Any reviews with ideas in them will be deleted. Sorry. If you do want a part of it, either contact me at PlotTwist13@comcast.net OR go to my LiveJournal I really do prefer e-mail, though. :) 


	2. Chapter Dos

Discworld HouseShare: Chapter 2  
  
A/n: Just . . . just read it. And if anyone takes this seriously I will personally stab them. Oh, and - is the same thing as a star right now, 'cause ff.n's being a crap.  
  
Disclaimer: :snort: You really think . . . ? Naw . . .

-

The day dawned misty and cold on the house. Commander Vimes watched it do so with measured distaste.  
  
Things had gotten very odd. Angua was beginning to obsess about the fate of her skirt, the arguments over TV programming had gotten out of control, Nanny Ogg was making more mixed drinks than ought to have been allowed in the blender, Mistress Weatherwax was shouting at everybody, Carrot was trying to keep peace and Vetinari, the bastard, had snuck off and hadn't been seen since he'd been collecting ties in the bedroom.  
  
"That is _it_!" The screech pierced the early morning silence of the house. Vimes heard the thump as Nobby fell out of bed.  
  
"Listen, Angua, please just be reasonable . . ." the Commander heard Carrot begging. "I'm sure you don't have to change just to find a skirt! You look fine without it anyway!"  
  
Vimes winced. Carrot's tact? Not so good.  
  
"Here, what's happening?" Ah, that would be Mistress Weatherwax.  
  
"Nothing, Mistress, I'm sure you needn't get involved . . ." Vimes heard Carrot pleading through the door. "Very personal, not at all important . . ."  
  
Vimes sighed. It looked like it was time for him to get involved. He opened the door and strolled down the hall, halting next to Mistress Weatherwax and glaring at Carrot and Angua's closed door.  
  
"What's all this then?" he demanded. It was a good policeman's standby.  
  
"Oh, nothing at all Mister Vimes . . ."  
  
It was at that moment that the 'nothing at all' gave a low growl that took even Mistress Weatherwax by apparent surprise. Vimes sighed.  
  
"She's a werewolf," he said by way of explanation. "You might want to step away from the door." No sooner than the two of them had stepped back then a golden streak of what looked like fur flew by, nose to the ground. Apparently the scent was strong.  
  
"Sorry Mister Vimes," Carrot said apologetically, stepping out from behind the door. "You know how she gets sometimes."  
  
"Can't be holding with that," Mistress Weatherwax said haughtily before storming off in the other direction.  
  
"I'm going to eat breakfast now," Vimes said. There was really nothing else to be done. He gave Carrot a polite nod and beat a course for the kitchen.

-

Nanny Ogg was down there, making the first batch of daiquiris for the day. Vimes didn't even try to greet her over the blender. Without a word he reached into the pantry and pulled out a box of Generic O's-. They were tasteless, only looked like the name-brand they were modeled after, and five cents cheaper, which obviously made them the smart buy.  
  
Halfway through his bowl of O's, both the Commander and Ms Ogg were startled nearly out of their wits by a piercing scream that rose from the basement and managed even to be heard clearly over the blender--. Nanny snapped the blender off and Vimes dropped his spoon. There was the sound of someone running up the stairs.  
  
Angua slid out of the door and across the linoleum. She was wearing her missing skirt and a black T-shirt that read 'Drama Queen' on it in pink, sparkly letters. There was a sparkly silver crown above the 'ama'. It heaved as she gasped for breath.  
  
"What happened?" Vimes asked, bewildered.  
  
"Daiquiri?" Nanny Ogg said hopefully, thrusting a fresh-made beverage at the younger woman. "Does wonders for the nerves, does a daiquiri." The old witch watched in wonder as the sergeant grabbed the frosty drink and gulped it down, finishing by slamming the glass on the table.  
  
"Vetinari," she gasped.  
  
"What?" Nanny Ogg said.  
  
"Vetinari happened," Vimes said shortly, as though this explained everything.  
  
"He shot at me!" Angua exclaimed, still panting. "I think the bolt might have been silver-tipped!"  
  
"What?!" Vimes roared. At this point, Carrot had wandered downstairs and was watching the proceedings with an air of confusion.  
  
"I see you found your skirt?" Carrot said cautiously.  
  
"It was down . . . down there," she growled, gesturing at the door, "and I went down and changed back and put it on. And then I found this . . . this shirt . . ."  
  
"Isn't Vetinari living down there these days?" Carrot asked curiously. "Why would he have a Drama Queen shirt?"  
  
"Possibly for the same reason he had my skirt," Angua babbled. "Anyway, as soon as I had pulled the shirt down I open my eyes and there's a crossbow bolt heading for me!"  
  
"What?!" Carrot asked, shocked. "Vetinari couldn't have – He wouldn't just . . ."  
  
"He's gone 'round the bend, sounds like," Nanny Ogg said cheerfully. "Daiquiri, anyone?"  
  
"Of course he would," Vimes sighed. "Anyone want to go reason with him?" There was silence as Carrot backed up a few steps, along with Angua. "Don't everybody jump at once," Vimes snapped.  
  
"Have a daiquiri," Nanny said happily. "Seems you might need one."

-

The basement was very dark, Vimes noticed. There was no way you couldn't notice it. Cautiously, he descended the stairs further into the Lair of Vetinari. The smell was curious; butter, banana and banged grains. The commander shrugged it off and continued in his quest.  
  
He reached the bottom of the stairs without incident. Proceeding across the carpeted floor carefully, he peered around until his eyes properly adjusted themselves. It was dead quiet. Vimes slowed his breathing and squinted. Maybe a shape of a bed, a pile of what might have been clothing, possibly a door . . .  
  
A crossbow bolt whizzed by his head. Taken almost completely off-guard, Vimes froze, waiting for the next clue as to his shooter's location. Another bolt was not forthcoming, but a low chuckle came from somewhere to Vimes' right.  
  
"We meet again, Vimes," said Vetinari, slinking out of a shadow. Vimes could only make out the shape of the other man and the glint of the crossbow bolt's tip in the darkness. He raised his hands above his head.  
  
"It seems we do," he said peevishly. "Now would you put the crossbow down and turn on a light?"  
  
"No," Vetinari said shortly. There was the crinkle of paper in the darkness as Vetinari unwrapped something. "I have been monitoring you, Vimes," he continued.  
  
"Would you be reasonable?" Vimes snapped back. "This whole situation's a little odd, if you ask me."  
  
"You are the one the call Copperbadge‡. You are a very . . . interesting specimen."  
  
"Vetinari, how many daiquiris have you had this morning?"  
  
"Tell me all your secrets."  
  
". . . What?"  
  
"You heard me the first time."  
  
"This is ridiculous. I'm not playing along anymore," Vimes growled. He shut his mouth firmly and crossed his arms, glaring at the shadow in the darkness. He tried to hide his uncertainty when the shadow approached, the glint of light on steel swaggering along as it walked. The tip of the bolt never wavered as it lowered between his eyes.  
  
"Are you expecting me to talk?" Vimes asked after some time. There was pause.  
  
"No, Mr. Vimes," came the slow, thoughtful reply, "I expect you to die."  
  
Vimes ducked just in time to avoid the bolt as it whizzed towards him. Acting on instinct, he dove forward and grabbed Vetinari around the waist. The Patrician-gone-mad twisted and nearly got off another shot, but Vimes managed to get him pinned against a wall before he could pull the trigger. Vimes couldn't help but notice the odd texture of the other man's shirt as the politician struggled against his grip.  
  
"Seriously Vetinari," Vimes panted, "how many drinks have you had in the past twenty-four hour period?"  
  
"None!" Vetinari snarled back. He twisted, inching up the wall. Realizing what was being attempted, the Watchman pulled him back down to the floor.  
  
"You've missed three shots this morning," Vimes snapped. "You've had something to drink; how much?" There was a pause in the action as Vetinari stopped momentarily.  
  
"Maybe one," he conceded. "_Maybe_."  
  
"One?"  
  
"Or, like, five or six. Somewhere in there. Now let go."  
  
"Not until you stop getting drunk and shooting at people."  
  
"I am not drunk!"  
  
"Are too, and I know drunk. Now give me the crossbow and bolts and I'll let you go."  
  
There was a pause as Vetinari apparently considered his options. "Well, you have to let go of at least one of my hands," he said grudgingly after some time. Cautiously, Vimes dropped his right hand and paid as much attention as was possible in the dark to where the crossbow was at all times.  
  
When three crossbows, bolts for at least five, and a one-shot were safely in Vimes' possession he turned to go. He froze when a knife flew past his right ear.  
  
"I WANT THE KNIVES TOO!" he roared.

-

"He's been down there a long time," Carrot said. He was dithering.  
  
"I'm sure he's fine," Nanny Ogg said cheerfully. "Here, have some more daiquiris."  
  
"Well, if Lord Vetinari almost got me . . ." Angua started, but trailed off. There were footsteps on the stairs. Slowly, the door swung open.  
  
"Cor," breathed Nobby, who had come downstairs when he had heard the commotion.  
  
Commander Vimes stood on the landing, radiating anger, and holding more weapons than even Nobby would have known what to do with. He glared at the gathered crowd.  
  
"If anyone," he whispered dangerously, "anyone tells him where these are, I will personally make sure that they are left in that basement, so help me. And stop giving him daiquiris!" he added to Nanny.  
  
"Well he says they're just as good as the ones you can get in Genua," Nanny said proudly.  
  
"I don't care," Vimes huffed. "I'm going to hide these." And thus he stormed off down the hall, clinking dangerously all the way.

-

-This is not an endorsed fanfic. :pauses, swigs Coke:  
  
--Which was diesel-powered.  
  
‡Not at all related to, based on, or stolen from the fanfic author samvimes and/or James Bond. 


End file.
